


Lizzis' Afternoon

by zaticon1



Category: Emetophilia - Fandom
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 09:44:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16890195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaticon1/pseuds/zaticon1





	Lizzis' Afternoon

Lizzis' Afternoon Lizzi sat on the passenger side of the El Dorado, her eyes closed, her lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line, and bore the motion of the car as best she could. Her plans for the day had gone completely off track, and now, the ride back to the house was making feel even sicker than she had on the boat. She was glad when they left the freeway. It meant that the long car ride was almost over. Good. She breathed slowly, deeply and carefully. Michelle glanced over from the drivers seat. "You're awfully quiet, Hon." she said. "Mmm...? Oh, I'm sorry." Lizzi answered. She opened her eyes and pasted on a smile. Steeling herself for conversation, she made a highly understated admission. "I'm just feeling a little... you know...kind of..." She put her hand on her stomach and stuck out her tongue. "Blecccch! That boat ride kind of got me. I mean, I liked it, it was great. Your friends were great. Especially Shannon. I'm just... not a very good traveler, I guess. " Michelle took her foot off of the gas, letting the car slow down, and started to pull over. "Need to get out and walk around, a little?" "Mm mm." Lizzi shook her head. "I could put the top down, if you need air." "You don't have to do that." "Want to drive? That might help." "No. Really. It's OK. I don't feel really SICK sick, like, like I'm gonna, you know, throw up, or anything. Besides, we're almost home, anyway." She swallowed. "I just... wouldn't have eaten so much, if I'd known we were going." She smiled, feebly, hoping that Michelle would take it as a gesture of fortitude. Actually, the grin reflected her own amusement and, naturally, she and Michelle had sat together. Being around so many gorgeous models had done its thing on Lizzi, pretty fast. All of them had been flaunting their charms, their rosy nipples showing through their thin little tops, their tight buns squeezed into tighter retro-seventies hot pants, God. There were even a couple of strands of Irish red pubic hair sneaking to view, here and there. To top it off, Michelle had been covertly slipping her hand down between Lizzi's thighs all through the meal. Before long, she was well worked up. Then, the last of the party showed up. That was when she saw Shannon. Michelle noticed that Lizzi kept looking at the girl, and wasn't quite sanguine about it. She shouldn't have worried. Lizzi wasn't a coquette. Besides, it got around fast that Shannon wasn't into girls. Lizzi had liked her,that was all. Literally "liked" her. Everybody had. The other girls were top drawer, sharp, friendly and, gorgeous, but Shannon put them all in the shade. In the shade! Hell, in the fucking DARK! Next to her, they came off like a pack of cannibalistic androgynes. She was... generous! That was the word. Exactly. She was from Iowa. Adel, the town was, Lizzi remembered. A farmers daughter? If not, she should have been. She was that incredibly sexy, wholesome type that those words conjured, in popular myth, tall, and stunning, like some huge flower. Generous. That really said it, physically, as well as in her attitude. Her smile made Lizzi think of one of those passive martial arts, like Tai Chi, or something, soft, powerful, and completely disarming. She had heart braking "breeders" hips, that smoothed into long Betty Grable legs. Her breasts were an invitation to pleasure. They had the kind of nipples that were always going slightly hard, beneath her bra and blouse. They begged to be kissed and sucked and caressed, by a lover, by herself, Onanisticly, and, by the cooing, suckling babies that would come, eventually, when her salivating womb was flooded with seed. In a 'Forties movie, she would have been cast as the golden hearted Salvation Army girl, who didn't know that she was drop dead beautiful. Still, she had to know, Lizzi thought, or she wouldn't have been trying to be a model. Shannon a model! Never happen. As beautiful as she was, her look was all wrong, for the '90s. Nor could she ever cultivate the right "I'm too cool to fucking bother" attitude. She could be an actress, if she had the talent. Yeah, an actress, easily. But not a model. She was too damned sweet, so sweet, and so special that she had completely ruined Lizzis fun. Michelle broke into the girls reverie. "You really did put it away, Sweet Thing. Even on the boat. I saw you knock off a whole quart of milk." "Yeah." That gave Lizzi a jolt. She didn't know that anybody had seen that! She thought fast. "I was...kind of seasick... I thought milk was supposed to be good for a sick stomach." "Oh, Honey! That's for heartburn or ulcers, not nausea! It's a miracle it didn't make you vomit!" "I didn't know that," Lizzi lied. It wasn't a miracle to her. It was an aggravation. On the way out, she'd gulped down the milk, as part of her plan. Then, she'd had to scrap the fucking plan, and now she was paying for it. "You always eat like that, and look at you, Miss Hardbody," Michelle said. Staring straight ahead, she lowered her voice. Lizzis upset stomach and routinely liontine appetite brought to mind something that had been bothering her, lately. "Listen, Lizzi. I've been meaning to talk to you. You eat like three people, and you look great." She turned and looked at the girl. "You're not doing anything dumb, are you? You know, like some girls do... when they like to eat, but... they want to stay thin?" She kept shifting her attention between Lizzi and the street, waiting for an answer. "What?" Lizzi looked at Michelle. "Oh, no! God, no!" she said, after a moment, catching the meaning. "I hate throwing up!" That was an absolute lie, but a white one. She wasn't bulimic. "I just, you know.... do a lot of exercise... keep in shape. And I've always had a big appetite." She smiled, put her hand on Michelle's leg, and squeezed. "I love you," she said, meaning it. "I'm OK! Really!" She turned away and, leaned against the top of the cars door. "But, you know, I kind of wish you hadn't said that, right now." "Sorry I brought it up." Lizzi turned around and looked at Michelle, wide eyed. Michelle gave her a questioning look, then caught on. They both giggled. Lizzi leaned back and closed her eyes. "Ohhhhh..." She could still feel the motion of the boat. 'Up and down... up and down... Up and down, and all around.' Lizzi had read that somewhere. In some story, or novel. A girl was getting ready to throw up, and kept chanting that to herself, mentally, while her lunch, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a warm coke, sloshed around in her stomach, "in an extremely nauseating way". 'Up and down, and allll aaarrrooundd.' Now, thanks to her own efforts, and the wild card that Shannon had dealt into the game, Lizzi was in the same position, stuck with a big load of sloshy stuff that clearly did not like being where it was, and felt as though it was getting bigger and more unstable with every perceptible motion of the car. She hadn't expected it to stay with her for this long, but, since it had, she did hope to get home with it. She didn't want to get sick all over the car, or on the street, in front of a bunch of strangers. Michelle concentrated on her driving, hoping that she'd gotten a truthful answer. A couple of minutes later, they pulled into the driveway of their rented house. Lizzi picked up her purse and leaned over to Michelle, giving her a birdlike peck on the lips. "I gotta go," she said. Michelle stared as the girl slid of her seat and headed for the house. Her face had been cool and clammy when they'd kissed, and she looked pale. Plus, that had to have been the most half hearted little goodbye they'd ever shared. Lizzi's kisses were never dry. And she hadn't wasted any time getting out of the car. She watched her hurry along the walk way and up to the front door. She was certainly wasn't acting as well as she said she felt. Well, if she was nauseated it wouldn't be any wonder. All that rich food and all that running around, the stress of meeting everybody, and then the boat ride, and what had happened with Shannon. And drinking MILK! Michelle shuddered. "The poor little thing." She smirked at herself for being a worrier. She was obviously just reacting to her own pathological fear of vomiting. Besides, Lizzi'd probably be all right, now that she was out of the car. Even if she wasn't, the worst that could happen was that she'd go into the house and throw up. That was no fun, and Michelle was more than sympathetic. She'd rather have fallen backwards down five flights of concrete stairs, blindfolded, than barf up half an olive. But if it was going to happen, it'd just have to happen, that was all. She couldn't do anything, except get sick, herself, if she hung around. She put the El Dorado into reverse, and backed out onto the street. Lizzi went into the living room, walked over to stereo, and the touched the "on" switch. That soft, Bosa Nova stuff that Michelle liked came out of the speakers. "Well, am I gonna do it, or not?" Actually, she was certain that, if she tried, she could fight down the urge. She'd have to work at it, though... and... would it really be worth it? She'd be bloated and miserable for the rest of the afternoon. Getting her stomach empty would be a big relief. And she could EASILY make that happen. THAT wouldn't take much work, at all. She'd actively wanted to throw up, earlier. That had been the heat of the moment. Now, alone, and facing the reality, she was scared of the idea, but not so much so that she could ignore the tingle in her crotch. There were some stomach medicines in the bathroom, but they never seemed to do her any good. Once, she'd tried some of that fizzy stuff, and it had almost immediately heaved her guts out. "There's your answer, if you want it." Then she remembered how rough unbuffered aspirin could be on her stomach. Michelle kept a big bottle of the cheap, generic kind in the night stand. "Pop two or three of those... and then chug down a big glass of warm water... " She decided to get undressed while she thought about it. Shedding her bra and pantyhose would at least make her more comfortable. First, though, she found a rubber band and gathered her hair into a pony tail, just in case. In the bedroom, she began stripping off her clothes. She looked at herself in the vanity mirror. She could actually see the bulge of her stomach. She looked at it, in the manner of a doctor, who'd unmistakably identified the cause of a medical problem. She thought back to breakfast and lunch, to the restaurant, the ice cream parlor and, finally to the boat. She put her hand on her belly, and pressed, lightly. Immediately, her nausea strengthened by a corresponding amount, as did the agitated feeling farther down. She took her hand away and swallowed. Her eyes went to her dark blond triangle. "You've got a one track mind, Girl." "That's what got me into this." She rubbed her stomach, again, once more teasing her sickness. She closed her eyes and let her hand slide down to her mound. "If you broke your leg, you'd probably grab the nurses ass in the emergency room." "Only if she was hot, and if she threw up on me." She'd always been aroused by the sight or the thought of someone vomiting. She remembered, from when she was a teenager, looking up "nausea" and "vomit" in the dictionary, the way the other girls did words like "penis". 'Nausea: The sensation of impending vomiting. A sickness at the stomach, with loathing for food, and an inclination to vomit.' 'Nauseate: To cause nausea.' 'Nauseous: To cause, or to affect with nausea.' 'Nauseated: to be affected with nausea.' 'Vomit: To disgorge the contents of the stomach through the mouth.' "Uuuulllltttthh... I feel like I'm maybe gonna disgorge." The house felt awfully warm, all of the sudden. Naked, she went out to the patio and lay down on the porch swing. Her position increased the pressure on her stomach, and the motion reminded her of the rocking of the boat. She closed her eyes. The sound of the artificial waterfall that was part of the fish pond increased the effect. "I AM gonna throw up," she said, aloud. The realization mashed down on every emotional button in her head. Every single one. Her forehead was sunnenly beaded with cold moisture. She felt the leaping butterflies, and rubbed her stomach, again, not quite for comfort, but slightly hard, and more than slightly masochisticly. "Shit..." she sighed, letting out a deep breath. This wasn't what she'd wanted. Her thoughts drifted back across the afternoon. Toward the end of the meal, she'd stepped off to the ladies. As she was coming back, the captain had shown up. Eavesdropping, she'd had heard him propose taking everyone out for a ride, to get used to the boat, before they actually had to go to work. She had gotten a crazy, sexy idea. Her kind of "sexy" that was. She was going sailing with a bunch of the hottest mannequins in the business. Right after lunch... She practically came standing up, when she thought of all of them all hanging over the rail, offloading their cargo, with their sassy little tushes sticking straight up in the air. Nothing in the world could get her off more quickly. "Wooooooofffff!!!!!" Would any of them get sick, though? Well, they might...if they had some help... She'd intended to wait until they were well at sea, and then start whining about how sick she was feeling. If it looked as though it was working, she'd have really gone to town. "Did anybody else have the fish? Did it taste all right? I shouldn't have eaten so much of it! What if it was spoiled? Oooohhhh.... I KNOW I'm gonna get sick, NOW!" With any luck, enough of that would have gotten to somebody, and that would probably done in somebody else, and then, well... But, if it hadn't, she'd been willing to go even farther. Some people could be talked into puking. But, some need little extra shove... sort of... an example... She wasn't immune to motion sickness, by any stretch of the imagination, but she didn't give a fuck! That was the thing! She'd gone back to the buffet and refilled her plate, piling on macaroni salad, curried chicken, salmon mousse, coconut cream pie, cheese cake... She even remembered wishing that there'd been beef stroganoff! God! Even she was appalled, now, thinking about it. Still, if it had worked... When she knew that it was going to come up, she wasn't going to demurely retreat to the head, or the stern of the boat. Oh, no. She was going to let it catch her by "surprise", and unload all over the middle of the deck, right in front of everybody, as noisily, as messily, and as ostentatiously as she could. That'd have done it, by God! Then, when she was "all better", and the rest of them were on their knees, laughing at the water, she'd be there for them, all sympathy, all understanding, all soothing, caressing...WANDERING hands... Oh, it would have been hot! She'd been all primed and ready, as they'd motored away from the harbor. Then, Shannon had come up to her, eyes damp, shoulders hunched, looking terrible. One arm was pressed against her midriff, just below her breasts, the other held a wadded kleenex to her lips. Her upper lip was drawn back from her pretty white teeth, in that unmistakable look. Her face was frighteningly pale, making the pinkness of her mouth absolutely startling. Automatically, Lizzi had reached out to take her arm, and lead her off to the privacy of the head. Then the girl whispered to her. "I'll probably throw up, Lizzi..." The unmistakable terror in her voice made Lizzi draw back. "I've never been on a boat, before... I didn't want to... I hate getting sick! Why didn't they tell us we were going, before they let us eat?" She began to cry, silently. Lizzi should have loved hearing those words from such a beautiful girl, but the fear in the lost little voice melted her. Her plan had gone straight overboard, and she'd spent the rest of the trip comforting the other girl. It hadn't been easy. She'd had to choke back her own self inflicted sickness, which had been almost out of control, by that time. If she'd gotten sick, or even excused herself and disappeared into the head, Shannon wouldn't have been able to take it. She'd held on, though, and gotten both of them through it. After they'd docked, she'd had two of the other girls walk Shannon around the marina green for a few minutes. She and Michelle had left right away. Michelle had been in a strange mood. She really was bothered by all of the attention Lizzi had paid to Shannon, but, she was proud of her lovers kindness, too. She, herself lived in terror of seeing anyone throw up. She'd kept her distance. "Ohh...SHAAAANNNNONNN.... " Lizzi thought. "Why did you have to be so scared? Or so nice? If you'd been a little bit brave, or a little bit bitchy, I wouldn't have felt so sorry for you. We'd both be fine, now." She rubbed her belly. "Maybe we'd even have had some fun..." She closed her eyes and let the swing do its thing on her, the way the boat and the car had. Back and forth... Back and forth...up and down... "Up and down, and allllllll aaarrrooouuuuundd." "You really are enjoying this," she thought. She doubled her other hand into a fist and pressed against, forcing it against her solar plexus. She thought of the girls on the boat, but only for a moment. Then, she was back to Shannon. "I'll probably throw up, Lizzi..." She loved remembering the words. She tried to imagine how the other girl had felt, on the cruise. "I'll probably throw up, Lizzi..." She lay back and let her legs relax, one sliding down into the space between the seat and the back of the lounge, the other sliding off until her foot touched the floor. She looked down at her naked belly touching it with one hand, the other draped across her forehead. "I'll probably throw up, Lizzi..." She sighed. "I'll DEFINITELY throw up, Shannon." She began to tickle herself, between her open legs. "Pretty fucking soon, Shannon." "Pretty fucking soon, Shannon... Fucking pretty Shannon, soon." "Heeeeeeeeeeeee!!" There were all kinds of reasons why that wasn't going to happen, but was pretty good word play, for a girl with a sick tummy, and it drew moisture to the place that she was touching. She began to masturbate, in earnest. "I wonder if I have time for this," she thought. "Fuck time," she whispered. She didn't have to move from the swing, if she didn't want to. If something happened, she could clean it up. It'd be easier, here than if she tried to get to the bathroom and didn't make it. God, though, there was gonna be a lot of it. And all that milk. She'd thrown up milk, before. She'd never forget it. She wondered if the whole quart was still in her stomach, or if some of it had already gone further down. Then she realized that the milk was the last thing she'd had, so it would still be there, even if some of the other stuff wasn'te. It would be the last thing to go, the regular way. Now,it was going to be the first. She'd have to throw up a whole quart of slimy, lumpy curdy yellow stuff, before anything else came out of her mouth. "I'm really gonna make a mess," she thought, squeezing her breast, bringing both her sickness and her climax even closer. Then, she realized that, though the concrete would be easy to clean up, the fabric of the couch wouldn't be. She rolled over onto her stomach and leaned her head over the edge of the seat, feeling the blood sing in her ears. She drew up her knees a bit, to gain better access to her privates. She was surprised at how slippery she was, inside. "I'll probably throw up, Lizzi... I'll probably throw up, Lizzi... I'll probably throw up Lizzi..." She kept playing back the words, over and over in her mind, as she worked on herself. In spite of her better nature, she couldn't help wishing that Shannon had thrown up. While they were leaving the harbor, Lizzi had gone for a pee, and had discovered the "head". It was fucking incredible! It was a little compartment, a bit bigger than a phone booth, all paneled in polished teak. There were shiny brass rails and fittings, everywhere. The floor was done in those cute little, old fashioned, white tiles that looked like honeycombs. The bowl was the best part, though. It was brass, too, and had a varnished wooden seat, and an old fashioned hand pump. The name plate was a white porcelain oval with a blue eagle painted into the glaze. Everything was spit and polished. "What a BITCHING place to puke!" she'd thought, at once. Now, she wished that she could have taken Shannon, alone, into the little private room, and knelt with her, their bodies crowded together in the tiny space, while the stunning girl threw up every last morsel of solid in her stomach, and every last splash of hot, tangy liquid that her body could produce. She'd have been sick herself, then, surely. The motion, and the confinement, the smell, just the raw, sexual excitement would have done it for her, and they'd have filled the shiny brass bowl together, their mouths gushing, pouring twin streams thick, and body warm, until they were exhausted, unable to move, afterward, and lay there, sweating, in the tiny, humid little compartment... "Ohhhhh...Shannon..." Lizzi rubbed herself, frantically... "What if a girl like that, a healthy, strapping, beautiful girl like her, ate everything she could hold, then got sick... vomited... lost everything to nausea..." Her fingers worked inside her, furiously. "I'll probably throw up, Lizzi...I'll probably throw up, Lizzi... I'll probably throw up Lizzi..." "I'LL PROBABLY THROW UP, LIZZI!!" "Get to the bathroom, you idiot, her thinking brain screamed at her, from behind the dancing fire in front of her eyes, shrieking to be heard above the twin stoirms in her guts and loins, above the "SLAP! SLAP!SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!" of her thrusting hand. "You've got to sit up, at least!!" She threw back her head and arched her back, rising up from the swing, then slammed back, down, hard. Her belly took the full impact. Her climax came at the very same moment. She couldn't give in to it, without losing the concentration that was keeping her from being sick, and didn't try. As the pleasure tore through her, she breathed, convulsively, and saliva poured into her mouth. She slid off of the seat and hit the floor on her hands and knees. It was going to happen! At the last instant, she got another wild inspiration. She stood up and bolted from the patio, charging through the house. It was so exhilarating that she almost laughed. How classic, dashing for the bathroom, the way people did, in those last giddy, panicky seconds before their mouths filled with hot, ruined food, when the false hope of winning the battle with nausea had been held for too long, and the only choice they might still have was deciding where to be sick, and only if it wasn't too late even for that! She got to the toilet in time, leaned over, and let her mouth go slack. She coughed and gagged, but didn't retch. Disappointment made her almost frantic. She turned and grabbed the water glass that was sitting on the sink. She filled it, took a deep breath, and raised it to her lips. She almost managed to get it all down, in three big gulps, but the last of it went down the wrong way. She choked. Immediately, the glass refilled, then overflowed. A thick torrent of hot, white curds gushed up all over the back of her hand. She lowered the glass and emptied it into the bowl. its contents hit the water, next to the more powerful stream that was pouring out of her. Again, she thought of Shannon, of what it would have been like, to have, gone into the head with her. The glass slid from her slippery fingers and rolled across the floor. "Oooooohhh ... Shannon... " she thought. "Have you ever thrown up milk?" Suddenly, she was filled with a primal loathing for the milk, and the way it felt inside her, for the hard curds sliding over her tongue, for the way they tasted. It was more than nausea. She hated the milk. She hated the water that she'd drank. She was glad that it had come right back up. She wanted everything to come up... wanted to see all of it splatter into the bowl. She was furious that it hadn't, before... afraid that it still wouldn't. The sound she made was as much a scream of rage and frustration as a retch. Still, it triggered the second wave, and she knew that she didn't have to worry. When it ended, all of the milk was gone, and the rest of it was coming up. It tasted different, it even sounded different, hitting the water, and in the way it sounded, coming up, the lumps of solid interrupting the flow of air from her throat... coming up with a gargling sound, not smooth and flowing, like the milk... But it was good... SO GOOD Getting rid of it, at last...and the best part was that there was more...she could tell... She thought of Michelle, then. She wanted her there, with her, her comforting hands caressing her back and belly, kneading her hard nippled breasts, slipping into her. She felt like a witch, because she knew that seeing her like this would make Michelle sick, and she knew that the woman hated to vomit. She was wishing for something that her lover detested, but she couldn't help it. She wanted both of them, together, filling the bowl. She let her mouth fill, again and, again, savoring the stinging tang, the cresting and flowing, her muscles flexing like a huge hand, squeezing everything out of her. Finally, too exhausted to stand, she fell to her knees, her arms draped across the rim of the bowl. She must have been finished. She knew that she couldn't hold much more, surely.. No, she wasn't. It didn't matter... It wasn't bad... not at all... vomiting... throwing up...not once you gave in to it ... like seduction... But was it seduction, if you didn't have a choice? If was forced on you... But, if you wanted it to happen? If it was your own body, doing it to you? If it felt so good... It was all right, then, wasn't it? She couldn't make up her mind... She had no mind left... It was dissolving in her sickness... Everything came to her from through a thick, cottony haze, as though she were semi-conscious, not far foom some unimaginably wild and violent public event... A riot, in Times Square, on New Years Eve... All noise and motion, and power... but...remote...the blurring jets of semi liquid swirling in the bowl felt no more connected to her than if they'd been badly focused images on a movie screen. She was only sensation... All she could do was feel and hear and smell ...The desperate primal noises, the scents were more personal than sexual excretions... coming, as they did, from even deeper within her. Deliriously, she worried that she might slump forward, into the bowl and drown . She tightened the grips of her hands on the rim, as she strained, again, weakly and, finally, dryly. Sometime later, she realized that she was lying on the cool floor. The pale green ceiling swam just beyond the focus of her vision. Coming to herself, she smiled. She recognized the feeling of her emptied stomach beginning to settle. The sensation was as unique and characteristic as the nausea which was its counterpoint. "Ohhhh!!!!!!!! That's better!!!!!!!!" Her voice was raw and nasal. She sat up and looked into the toilet bowl, breathing in the heavy scent that wafted up from it. She cleared her throat, and realized that her nose was stuffed. She got some toilet paper from the roll, and blew into it. On the third try, she rid herself of a large wad of mucous. She looked at the paper and saw an undigested shred of lettuce, amid the snot and puke. "That's the only part I really hate," she thought, wadding the tissue. Shakily, she stood up and threw the paper into the toilet. She drew some more lumpy mucus down from behind her soft palate, leaned over, and spat them into the bowl. She found the glass and washed it, then rinsed her mouth. She picked up her toothbrush and loaded it with paste. As she brushed her teeth, she stood, absently gazing down at what had been inside of her. Her club sandwich and macaroni salad floated, placidly, chewed and partly digested, but plainly recognizable. The clabbered Haggan Daas pineapple sundae, curried chicken, salmon mousse, coconut cream pie, cheese cake, there was even the little sprig of parsley that she'd chewed, waiting for Michelle to take care of the check. Snaking through all of it was a brown ropey string that had to be that one chocolate truffle... God, what a persons stomach did to food. "Especially anything with milk or cream in it," she remembered, seeing all of the yellow-white curds. "And you carry stuff like that inside you, most of the time. There's something to think about!" She spat toothpaste onto the wad of toilet paper that floated on her puke, and rinsed her mouth with water from the glass. She squirted the water out of her mouth, trying to sink the toilet paper. The contents of the bowl rippled as she watched. She turned on the faucets and waited until the water ran tepid, then washed and dried her face. She reached back and pulled the rubber band from her hair, tossing it onto the drain board. She picked up a brush and went to work on her hair. As she was finishing, she noticed that she was feeling sweaty. She didn't want to take a shower, so she rubbed on some deodorant, and dabbed perfume on the insides of her wrists and behind her ears. She dropped Murine into her reddened eyes, and dabbed on a bit of make up, to cover her pallor. She looked into the mirror, satisfied. She turned back to the toilet, not moving for a long time. She noticed that her ears were still ringing, a slightly, and thought of how she'd sounded, being sick. Some day, she was going to have a recorder going, while she vomited. It would be great to have a tape that she could pop into her Walkman, as a surreptitious accompaniment to some of Michelle's fantastic tongue work. She reached down to flush the toilet. "NO! WAIT!" She had to have a picture, first. She ran and got her Polaroid, then leaned over the bowl and took three shots. She lined them up on the lid of the toilet tank, and went to her hiding place to get the others from her diary. She came back and put them together with the new ones, which were beginning to show up. "The color's a little different, this time...This is more orange looking." It was hard to tell if there was more, this time, because she'd done it in the toilet. Last time, it had been in the laundry sink, but, she finally decided that her record from last summer was intact. At last, she did flush the toilet, and watched the water flow in over everything. The level rose up and dropped, swirling down the throat of the bowl in a spinning stream. She turned away only after it had all washed down and the bowl had refilled. Before she did, she pulled the handle again, to get the last bit of oily residue, and the little flecks that the first flush always left behind. She gathered up her pictures and left the bathroom, leaving on the light, so that the fan would take away the smell. With everything safely put away, she slipped into bed, for a nap. She thought about. The only unsatisfying thing about her relationship with Michelle was her lover not being into throwing up. She'd never even be able to tell her about what had just happened, without grossing her out. The most she could do would be to mention it, casually, in passing, during their pillow talk. She imagined herself, quietly breathing the words, "I DID throw up, while you were gone, Michelle." Even this would have to wait until after the lovemaking. She moved and felt dampness on the inside of her thigh. She wondered if she'd somehow been sick on herself. When she checked, though, she found that the moisture was pure sexual arousal. Wow, she was hot. She and Michelle were going to have a good time, later. She was touched, again, thinking about their conversation in the car, but she really wasn't bulimic. She was, what was the word? Emetophylic! She made a conscious effort to relax and drift off to sleep. She wanted to be rested when Michelle got back. Maybe her earlier plans had blown up, but the day wasn't over, and Michelle was coming back. She had a whole new set of plans. Plans. Somehow, that got her back to thinking about Shannon. It was funny, but now that she was home, in the bed that she and Michelle shared, she realized that she had utterly no desire to sleep with anybody else. She probably never would. It felt nice. She rolled over onto her side and found Michelle's pillow. She hugged it, smelling the scent of her lovers hair and cologne. They belonged together, the two of them, and they belonged here, in the city, doing exactly what they were doing. Go back to Iowa, Shannon. Go back and look up one of the dozens of local studs who must still be pining away for you, and fill up your life with multiple orgasms. That would work for you. It really would. I can tell, just by the way it felt, being around you. But keep in touch. Have a bunch of babies, and write me long, poetic, clinically detailed letters, telling all about your morning sickness.


End file.
